Regenerant
by emkayt
Summary: "Sometimes, in the midst of the shifting, miserable worlds I scrape through, I catch a glimpse of a fluttering bird, taking flight and rising into the sky, and I feel a tug of someone I used to know, that I used to be...and then I am lost again." Set 2 years after Allegiant. Evidence of Tris, alive and held captive, turns Tobias' world upside down.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the characters or storyline created by the talented Veronica Roth!

I began this story as a fun project for myself, because while I found Tris' death at the end of Allegiant necessary and the true to the essence of her character, I just couldn't quite live with the idea that her story ended there. Here's my attempt to carry on her story while keeping as close to canon as possible! This is my first published fanfiction, so thank you for reading!

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Tris

Existence – it is a low drone, an incessant hum, enduring. There are no days, no nights, there is no time. Just existence. Just the slow, wavering beat of what's left of my living heart. Just the fog and endless distorted versions of reality.

There is no me.

Maybe I'm dead. I'm still not sure.

Sometimes, in the midst of the shifting, miserable worlds I scrape through, I catch a glimpse of a fluttering bird, taking flight and rising into the sky, and I feel a tug of something. In those rising wings, I feel someone I used to know, that I used to be.

One small taste of a memory, and then I am lost again.

Numbers flicker through my mind. One of them always makes me catch my breath – I don't remember why. But for a moment, it gives me hope.

And still the fog rolls on.


	2. Chapter 2

Tobias

I jolt upright on the couch, a short gasp escaping me. The TV is still on. The empty cartons of takeout are still scattered about the living room. My handgun is on the floor beside me. I pick it up, feeling better with the cool metal against my palm. Slowly, I come back to reality as the dream of her is forced back into the tiny, dark compartment of my brain that I fight to keep shut.

I check my watch – 8:16 PM. _Shit_... I'd slept through the time I was supposed to meet a date, something Zeke set up with a girl he knows from work. _I should at least have the decency to call her_. I make no move to pick up the phone - I can't bring myself to really care.

It's been just over two years since Tris was killed. Moving on is something I tell myself I'm doing. Three largely unsuccessful dates and two – _now three_ , I remind myself – stand ups betray the lie I tell myself. Tris forever relegated to the past, but I see her every day. In the small moments, pieces of her are still there. The sight of a bird soaring up into the sky. A glint of blue in my cereal spoon. The rare flash of a grey abnegation dress on my walk to work. The office receptionist with short straw-colored hair. Each time, I wrestle myself, desperately clinging to her memory while also trying to stuff it away in the recesses of my mind. I can't succeed at either.

I see a text from Zeke flash across my phone, no doubt to ream me for missing another date. _Does it really matter? Nobody could never compete with her._ Her ghost still has more hold over me than a living, breathing human. I shake the sleep from my head and rub my hands down my face, trying desperately to push the images of her smile from my mind while a smaller, broken part of me begs them to stay.

I'm startled from my reverie by a sharp knock on my door. My Dauntless instincts set me instantly on edge - Nobody visits me here. I stand, slipping the gun into my waistband. Factions have been dismantled, but old habits die hard. Another urgent knock. After a moment, I hear Zeke's familiar voice calling my name.

"Four, open up. I know you're home."

I flip the deadbolt and peek out of the door to my apartment. Zeke, Christina, and Matthew crowd the doorway, and I step back reflexively, feeling a bit ambushed by the herd of them. I clap eyes with Christina - her always-candid expression is unintelligible as she meets my gaze, posture rigid. I haven't seen so much tumultuous emotion in her expression since Tris' death. I crack the door further, but make no move to let them in.

"Um, hey. It's kind of a wreck in here… you're not trying to get me to go out again, are you?"

"We need to come in, Four," insists Zeke, his usual jovial tone shockingly somber. I feel my breath catch in my chest. "We need to talk."

Confused, I step back and allow them in with a bit of reluctance. They crowd into my sparsely furnished living room, ignoring the takeout remnants and dirty laundry.

"Sit down," Zeke commands, his posture stiff and controlled. He's serious. I feel a cool twist in my stomach, senses alerted.

I do as he says, removing my gun and settling onto the couch, but still keeping the weapon clutched in my hands. The hard metal calms my nerves. "What's wrong?"

"There's been a… development," Zeke says slowly, choosing his words. I can see Christina bouncing her knee tersely on the chair across the room. Raised Candor, it's clear she's itching to burst out with whatever they came to discuss. I clutch the arm of the couch beside me. Zeke continues, his measured pace starting to grate on my nerves.

"Matthew ran into something a few weeks ago at his job," I nod, urging him onward. Matthew works with the Research Commission, one of the city's government offices that collaborates with the Outside, continuing their scientific research. If Matthew uncovered something this serious, there's bound to be a threat. I lean forward, and Zeke looks to Matthew, nodding for him to explain.

"A few weeks ago..." he starts, clearing his throat. "A few weeks ago, I noticed something…unusual…on one of our outside research facility's registers. We were coordinating lab usage for the next several months, and I noticed there was a small lab marked as reserved, but with no project name. I went back a few months, and then over a year, and that lab has been reserved without a project name the entire time." He looks at me, gauging my expression, and continues. "I did some more digging then. There's simulation equipment in that lab, and small, nearly unnoticeable quantities of sim serums have been delivered there every week for the last _two years_. It's all been done under restricted access code. And there's more, there's been…"

My head snaps up as I register the timeframe, ignoring the rest of his words. Two years… sim serum, restricted access... "Matthew, what are you trying to say?" My tone is harsher than I intend. I feel adrenaline releasing, coursing through my system at an alarming rate. I can't see my expression but I know it is burning like a wildfire.

Zeke's gaze locks onto mine. "Four, we don't know for sure.."

 _Say it,_ I think desperately.

"We think maybe…"

I clench my fists.

"Maybe. Not for sure. There's a possibility that…"

"Say it!" I'm yelling now. Everyone tenses. Zeke's eyes still bore into mine.

The beat of silence in his pause is deafening.

"We think Tris may be alive."

For a short moment, my world goes red. Suddenly I'm standing across the room, chest heaving and gun clutched tightly in my iron fist. "HOW!?" I am yelling, unable to control my voice. "How is that possible?" Christina reaches out to me, then thinks better of it and drops her hand.

"We believe David's research team has been keeping her heavily sedated under continuous simulations as they perform genetic testing," Matthew explains evenly, plaintively, trying to reach me in my world of red. "I have a hypothesis that David didn't fatally shoot Tris, but instead hit her with an incredibly powerful paralytic serum to fake her death." Like what Peter did at Erudite headquarters, I think. "We don't know what kind of toll this has taken on her though, Four," he continues softly. "She was exposed to death serum, and if she did survive it, the effects of two years of sim testing beyond that may have taken a huge toll."

I can't take his words in. The tiny box in my head I've been cramming shut is now tumbling open and the image of Tris is blooming in my mind, her brilliant expression bursting from the back corner of my brain unrestrained, taking my breath away. Color fills her pale, cold cheeks; her dead eyes liven and dance with life. I am gasping, blood rushing through my ears.

Then suddenly I am no longer a noun, only a verb. Action is all I can comprehend. I dash through my apartment, grabbing my black leather jacket and shoving my feet mechanically in my boots. I raid my cabinet for ammunition, slipping my knife into my belt and sliding my automatic weapon out from under the bed.

Suddenly Zeke's hands are on my shoulders, restraining me. I try to jerk away, not understanding, and Christina joins him, forcing me down onto my unkempt bed. "I have to go get her," I cry, nearly incoherent. "I have to go… I have…" And then without warning I am forcing back tears, the waves of sadness, anger, and fear suddenly too much, my gasping breath impeding my words. "Why aren't we going to get her?" I buck against their grasp, trying again to rip myself off the bed.

"Four," Christina barks, her face level with mine as she grips my shoulder. "You need to stay calm. For her, Four. Stay calm so you can help her." Christina's words sink in slowly and I try to calm the rage within me. My breathing slows, but doesn't stop quivering. My muscles refuse to unlock.

"Why aren't we already going to get her?" I manage again, my voice so low with barely concealed rage, I'm surprised they can hear me.

"We are," She replies. "This isn't going to be easy. We needed to come up with a plan to get her out – it's a secured facility. We were waiting to tell you until we came up with a decent plan because…well, we figured you'd do exactly this," she says, gesturing to the way they are restraining me on the bed.

"What's the plan?" I insist, my hand tightening on my gun.

"We're leaving within the hour. We'll drive out the facility while we have darkness and storm the building. Matthew has all the floor plans and tactical information from their computer systems. We'll brief you on the way." I nod almost imperceptibly in assent, trying desperately to maintain my fragile composure.

"Four, I need you to be prepared," Christina says, whispering now. I can tell she is forcing back hot tears herself and I struggle to keep calm. "We don't know if she's alive. I don't want you to get your hopes too high. You need to be prepared for what we might… or might not… find."

I can't reply. I can't move. I remain frozen on the edge of the bed as the rest of the crew springs into action, checking weapons and donning black dauntless clothing. Tris has been dead in my mind for two years, my personal ghost to haunt me with every breath. I struggle to grasp the idea that she might be alive. All this time, she might have been imprisoned, waiting for rescue, while I tried so desperately to forget her. I suddenly feel sick, the taste of bile in my throat at the thought. Then another wave of despair overtakes me as I revisit Christina's warning. She may still be dead. The wound I'd clumsily stitched in my heart rips open, bleeding freshly once again. I sit there, bleeding inside, while the others move around me in a blur. I slowly count to three. I clench my fists, my jaw, and stele myself, trying to find my sense of bravery, and stand to join them.


	3. Chapter 3

Tobias

In what seems like hours and seconds at the same time, we have loaded into the dark government van Matthew borrowed from work. In the back are piled weapons, supplied by Zeke from his own job in the city's police force. I'm surprised they had both managed to obtain such high-profile resources. They must be hopeful, I think to myself. Tris' face is still blooming across my mind, but seeing the stack of cold metal guns in the back of the van brings me to laser focus. I do what I'm best at – I shut down and enter Dauntless mode, snapping into the task ahead of me.

Emotions become black fuel. I become action.

We drive three hours across the outside wastelands to reach the facility. The whole way, we discuss strategy, and I get up to speed on the floor plan and tactical moves. Zeke managed to grab a heavy powered serum rifle loaded with memory serum that will subdue and erase the memories of any guards we encounter in the hopes that we can delay the alert of Tris' disappearance. Dead guards will only bring attention to us more quickly. With luck, the memory-targeted guards won't even realize there is a reason to sound the alarm, and will carry on throughout the night with their regular duties, buying us time. Matthew brought a small computer with cable hookups and government access codes so I can set up a video loop on the security cameras, concealing our intrusion.

At last, we arrive at a chain link fence. Zeke cuts the gate open, and we enter quietly, headlights off. The dim lights of the facility glow in a low cluster several hundred yards off. Since the war, resources like extended surveillance are limited, and I'm thankful we don't have to make too much of an effort to keep ourselves hidden. We park the van behind a low rise, near enough to make our escape but far enough to remain concealed for now. Disembarking, we each gather our weapons. I see Zeke and Christina with hard, unreadable expressions, steeling themselves just as I do with the quiet confidence only the Dauntless possess. I try desperately not to let Tobias Eaton's emotional hurricane break into my iron-like work mode. For now, I am just Four.

We break in through the small supply entrance on the west side of the building and spill into a narrow, dimly lit hallway. This far out in the wastelands, nighttime security is low, nearly unnecessary. If Tris is here, though, there will likely be a few guards. We creep down the hallway, Zeke in the lead, Christina following up the rear. I can sense Matthew's trepidation behind me, a lab rat by trade with little combat experience. We need him, though, to help navigate the dim, unlabeled hallways. The layout is confusing, and we stumble into several dead ends before locating the control room. Inside sits a single guard. Bursting in, Zeke dispatches him with the memory serum weapon and drags him across the room as I take control of the computer system. Within minutes, I set up video loops and disable the facility's few alarm systems. As I work, Matthew goes through the building, scanning our route. " _Shit,"_ I hear him mutter sharply. Startled, I look over his shoulder and am undone by the image on the screen.

On the security feed of the brightly lit room, I see a gurney. Strapped to the rails with only a thin white sheet draped over her is a skeleton of a girl, unmoving. _Tris._ I feel myself plummeting over some unknown edge in my mind.

Before I am even aware of it my feet have carried me out the door, sprinting for the staircase leading to the lower level. I can feel the others following behind me. Emerging below, I immediately notice there are no lights turned off for the night. My muscles tense, anticipating what my instincts tell me lies ahead. Around the corner, two guards walk away with their backs towards us. With complete precision, Zeke hits them both with memory darts, and they slump to the floor without a sound. We surge forward, dashing towards the back corner of the compound. "Wait," Matthew stops us, "236. This is it."

Before the others can get to the door I am slamming my way through. The door crashes inwards, and then every force of gravity and beyond is holding me in one place as I see what lies before me.

 _Tris_. Her arms and legs are tied to the metal rails of the gurney. Her once-blonde hair is so dull it's nearly colorless, plastered to her forehead. I cringe to see that her eyes are open but completely lifeless, fixated on the ceiling above. An IV trickles a periwinkle serum into a drip line below her protruding collarbone. Sim equipment blips slowly beside the bed. Below the thin sheet, her bones jut out so starkly that she looks like a skeleton. There can't possibly be any life left within her. "Tris," I croak.

Then suddenly I am beside her, frantically running my hands over her, searching for any sign of life. I press my fingers to the side of her cold neck, waiting desperately for a pulse. I can feel none. In my mind, I am screaming her name, but my throat is sealed shut, unable to make a sound. She is gone, I realize; we came too late. I let my head fall onto her bony chest, lost all over again. The reopened wound in my heart is suddenly bleeding me dry.

And then I feel it – one low, sluggish heartbeat, followed by the shallowest of breaths...she's alive. Barely. A choking gasp escapes me as I jerk my head off her frail ribcage, now terrified of hurting her. "She's alive," I manage to whisper to the others, still standing in the doorway. _She's alive_. "Tris, can you hear me? I'm here, Tris." Her eyes remain glazed, unresponsive.

Then Matthew is there, removing her IV drip and sim equipment with a grim expression as Christina cuts her restraints. "Quickly," he murmurs to me. "She isn't stable." My body feels like cold steel, terror taking hold of me as I wrap her frail body in the sheet and scoop her into my arms, afraid she will fall into pieces at my slightest touch. This is not _my_ Tris, the strong, vital warrior. She is nearly the ghost that has haunted me, so much closer to death than to life. She doesn't stir, her eyes unmoving. My hope falters.

"Hurry," urges Zeke from the doorway. "We need to get out of here." I hear footsteps heading our way from down the hallway, and rush to evacuate the precious girl in my arms. She feels like nothing, feather-light. Without my access to a weapon, the others place themselves around me protectively as we hurry back up the hallway. We encounter two more guards, both quickly neutralized by Zeke. In a blur we crash out into the dark landscape, sprinting towards the knoll that hides our van. I try not to jostle Tris too much as I thunder over the uneven ground, but she feels so fragile in my arms. I feel like each step could crack all the bones in her brittle body.

I load into the back of the van with Matthew, where he's prepared a small makeshift medical area. I refuse to let go of her even as Zeke pulls out of the compound. I can't seem to unlock my arms from their protective cage around her as Matthew tries to check her vital signs around my arms. "Matthew," I whisper urgently as her deadened eyes begin to roll in their sockets. She begins to tremble, convulsions racking her small frame. I look to Matthew in a panic.

"She's been in a continuous simulation for a couple years," he tells me. "Her body is going into shock. A withdrawal of sorts. She's likely suffering delusions now that the sim serum isn't flooding her system anymore." I watch with the horrifying detachment of a nightmare as he injects several emergicare serums into her upper arm, but still the seizures escalate. I cling to her in the cradle of my arms, murmuring her name. I can hear Matthew yelling at Zeke to drive faster and I try desperately not to let myself fall apart.

Soon Tris begins to whimper, the sound so small and terrified that my bleeding heart shatters into pieces. Vague words fall from her lips for several horrible minutes, and then one clear cry strikes me through my core. "Tobias!" she cries out. "Tobias!" The utter terror in her voice is raw and piercing.

"I'm here, Tris, I'm right here," I say to her over and over. She cannot hear me, her mind lost in a purgatory between simulation and reality. Convulsions rip through her, and despite my reassurances, she still cries my name. Her eyes are open, but her gaze is lost in the air above me, searching and unfocused. I feel her feeble heartbeat wavering, her shallow gasps becoming even more labored. Her sickly pale skin takes on a blue tinge. Matthew administers another injection. I cling to her, rocking her, trying to soothe her, lost to everything but her. "Come on, Tris. Hang on." I murmur it over and over, like a prayer.

"Tobias!" She still screams. Her terror reverberates throughout the entire vehicle. "Tobias…"

"Shh, It's okay. You're safe, I'm here." In her mind, she is searching for me still. I feel a twist of relief that after all this time, she still cries out for me, but it is muted by another blow of terror as she trembles and screams. The nightmare goes on, the hours crawling by to the faltering tempo of her weak heart.

At last, as we near the city, I feel her body finally relax in my arms, and I see her eyes flicker with a small glimmer of recognition before slowly closing.

"Tobias," She whispers, this time with quiet relief. My heart feels like the sun, bursting with both brilliant light and unbearable burning heat at the same time. I tuck her close to my chest as she finally falls into a deep slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: 3 chapters down and I've held my tongue - I wanted to let the suspense play out a bit, but here we are, and Tris is alive :) This chapter can get a bit angsty but please bear with me, I promise it will get better (eventually.) Thanks for reading and extra thanks to those of you who left such kind reviews on the last few chapters!

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I am surprised when we pull up to old Dauntless headquarters as the very first hints of dawn start to soften the nighttime shadows. Since the Restructuring, when the faction system was dismantled, it's been largely purposeless. A few loyal Dauntless, unable to fully give up their faction-led lifestyle, have stuck around, but most moved into the new post-faction housing with the rest of the citizens.

"We set up an apartment here," Christina turns around to tell me. "They're going to come looking for her – our apartments aren't safe."

Matthew reaches over to check Tris' pulse. I haven't let go of her for a second since we freed her from the gurney back in the research compound. "She's resting now, but we need to get her inside quickly. Let's go."

Quietly, we all hop out except for Zeke, who speeds off to return the van and weapons, obvious evidence of our operation. Christina leads us down the familiar stone paths into old Dauntless. I shiver with a sense of déjà vu as we pass by the chasm, where I carried a battered Tris home in my arms once before. She was still so strong then. I can hardly stand to look down at her decimated figure, anger nearly eclipsing me each time I do. Instead I look to her eyes. They're closed now, but they're still _her_ … still my Tris.

We arrive at an apartment door tucked far back around a bend in a vacant hallway. The compound is eerily quiet without the raucous echos of the Dauntless. Christina unlocks the door and ushers us through the sparse quarters to the bedroom, where medical supplies are already stacked. They were so prepared all this time, planning their strategy with detail before I ever knew a thing. I lay Tris gingerly on the clean bed, still wrapped in the white sheet from the facility. She doesn't stir. Matthew wastes no time, inserting an IV into her arm as soon as she hits the mattress. I can't bring myself to back away – I simply stand beside her, stroking her lank hair.

I feel Matthew's hand on my shoulder. "Four, I need to check her over…" It wasn't an admonishment, but rather a request for permission. I understood his meaning.

"She at least has undergarments beneath the sheet." I grit my teeth as another wave of fresh anger sweeps over me and gesture for him to continue.

"I'm sorry," He says. "It's necessary." I nod and move back half a step to give him an inch of space, but no more, keeping my hand on Tris' forehead. Christina helps Matthew remove the sheet. The revulsion is clear on all of our faces as we see the damage clearly for the first time. I fight a steep wave of nausea, choking back bile and unadulterated anger.

She is a skeleton. I can see every last bone in her form, which, although strong, was birdlike before this torture. Now she is barely a wisp of life. Her ribs flutter unsteadily with each shallow breath, and the white elastic band covering her chest nearly falls off her emaciated form. Between her ribs and jutting hipbones, her formerly toned abdomen is a hollow crater. Even her femurs are visible. The skin around her wrists and ankles is scarred from the restraints, but also red and scabbed in some areas, evidence of a more recent struggle. The place where the serum drip had been inserted beneath her collarbone is bruised and swollen, and numerous scars mark her forearms where blood tests and injections appear to have been botched repeatedly. There is a deep bruise on the inside of her left thigh.

"Oh, Tris," Christina murmurs, her eyes filled with horror.

I have seen much worse in my short lifetime. I've fought, I've witnessed the gore of war, I've killed. The Dauntless in me has allowed me to carry through, like a machine. I am hardly affected by violence, stoic and un-phased. But as I look at Tris, so small and so wrong, I can't evade the revulsion that wells up inside of me. I bolt into the adjoining bathroom and retch, unable to handle the scene before me. When I am finished, I wipe my burning eyes. The joy I felt at finding her alive is crushed by sickening guilt. For her own sake, I nearly wish she would have been killed, rather than be forced to endure this misery for over two years. Two years…alone and tortured and left to rot alive for two years. The bile rises and I retch again. When at last I can compose myself, I come back into the bedroom to find her covered once more. Christina has gone; I can hear her and Zeke, who must have returned, conversing in low tones in the living room. Christina sounds like she's crying. Matthew stands by the IV, administering another vial of medication into the clear bag. He eyes me, gauging my composure.

"She'll pull through," he reassures me, checking her pulse again. "She's strong." I thank him with my nod and move to stand beside her again. There is now a slight color in her cheeks, and tucked under the blankets, the deathly chill of her skin has begun to warm. "I'll be back in to check on her soon." I don't look up as he slips out of the room.

Alone with her, I feel the cacophony of emotions inside me start to crescendo. Carefully, trying so hard not to disturb her, I slip onto the bed beside her. She is covered now by the heavy blankets, so only her gaunt face is visible. I reach over and tentatively stroke my finger down over her forehead, tracing the bridge of her nose, her eyelid, her cheekbone, her lips, the curve of her sharp chin. So weak, so fragile. In the lines of her face, though, I can still see Tris. She _is_ Tris, but still so far removed from the powerful, ferocious girl I left behind that last day.

I take a deep breath and try to steady my racing heart. It's not like me to be so affected, so shaken. But how could I not be? For two years, I'd been stuffing her skeleton into a closet in my mind. I finally accepted that she was gone forever, slogging my way through the mourning and grieving. Everything in my life has been centered around healing from her sudden disappearance from my world. And now, without warning, she's been dragged, barely hanging on, back into my life. _Alive_. I can see my hand trembling as it traces over her face. I know I am in shock. But what am I supposed to do about it? What do I want to do about it? Will she even remember me when she wakes up? _If_ she wakes up, I think darkly, and the trembling increases.

I'm not sure how long I lay there, tracing her face, relearning it. Lost. I float, unattached from everything; I feel as though all the strings tethering me to what I understood of the world have been cut, and now I have no way to get back. I just keep touching her face, praying that the fire will come back to her eyes. Praying that the fire will come back to her heart, and that she'll still welcome me there.

At some point, Cara is beside me, handing me a bowl of something hot - Mac n' cheese. I wonder vaguely when she got here. Christina must have called her. I don't remember eating the food, but I must have, because she comes back later to take the empty dish. She stands for a while beside Tris, stroking her hand. Before leaving, she pats my shoulder. The trembling eases some, but does not go away.

Eventually I have to get up from my vigil and get myself together. I shower in the guest bathroom. I stand under the hot steam for a long time, letting the soothing flow ease away the anxiety that has locked itself in my muscles. When the room becomes so steamy I can't breathe, I step out, changing into a fresh pair of clothes from a duffel bag somebody had thought to pack up from my apartment. I wipe the steam from the mirror and am caught off guard by my haggard appearance. I hadn't realized how shaggy I'd let my hair get over the last several months, complemented by several days of unshaven stubble. Tris would be shocked.

I dig around in my duffel and am surprised to find that whoever packed it included not just my razor, but by trimmer as well. They must have hoped I'd take a hint. Probably Christina. Attaching the longest guard, I turn on the trimmer and run it over my head, the movement practiced and familiar. Dark locks of hair fall into the sink. I leave it longer on the top, somewhere between abnegation and dauntless style. I finish with my razor, removing the unkempt stubble from my face. As I wash the hair down the drain, I see a bit more of myself in the mirror. A bit more of the man I was for Tris.

It's too much to think about, and I turn away.


	5. Chapter 5

Tris remains unconscious for just under three agonizing days. I mostly stay by her side, too anxious to leave her in case she awakes, but also fulfilling my own guilty needs, drinking in every breath she takes and trying to reconcile myself with her sudden re-entrance into my world.

On the third morning, as I sit next to her still form and hold her bony hand, I notice her breathing change, deepening in her chest. Her lips part ever so slightly, the first movement she's made since her struggle in the van. Frozen in place, I watch her face, too afraid to hope. Then, slowly, her eyelids flutter, opening to reveal tired blue eyes.

And that's it - I am utterly lost, falling into the light within them, splitting into one million fragments and simultaneously being pieced back together by her gaze. There is no Tobias, there is only her, only everything she has ever been and the immense, impossible notion of everything that she _will yet_ be. She is resurrected. I am dissolving into her. I am empty, and yet I am overflowing.

Her eyes meet mine and there is nothing else. Absolutely nothing.

Neither of us says a word. I don't think I'm capable. I drown in the blue of her eyes, the life within them nourishing something deep in my core that I didn't realize had withered away.

I see her lips move to form my name. _Tobias._ The sound stays stuck in her throat, but there is no mistaking it. Impossible warmth rushes through me.

"Tris," I whisper, reaching to gently stroke the side of her face. Her eyelids flutter and a weak smile tugs at her lips as I do. I don't know how many times my heart can shatter and be remade in the same instant.

She tries again, this time with a scratchy whisper. "Tobias…"

"I'm right here," I reassure her. "Its okay. I'm here." Her eyes meld with mine. I don't know how long we look into each other's gaze. Seconds, hours, days. I move to rest my hand over her heart, reassuring myself with the life I feel in that small, quiet heartbeat I never believed I'd feel again. I long desperately to scoop her from the bed and hold her, but know that might bring her more pain than comfort.

"How?" She chokes, her voice like sandpaper. I understand she's looking for an explanation.

"It's…quite complicated," I start. She moves her head in an infinitesimal nod, urging me on. My strong Tris. Barely awake from a two year simulation, and already searching for the story. I see determination in her eyes and I know that inside her wasted body is still her same steely, beautiful mind. "The last day we saw each other," I tell her, "You went into the weapons lab instead of Caleb. You were shot…I..." I falter, my throat tight as I fight back the memory of the white hot, blinding pain of that day. I see a new expression in her eyes – guilt, and compassion – as she looks to me. She remembers. I realize with a detached sense of shock that tears are sliding down my cheeks, quickly matched by several of her own. I take a shuddering breath and continue. I've had two years to process this; two years to understand and then forgive her. She doesn't need to shoulder any guilt now. "We thought you were dead. For the last two years we thought you were dead. I spread your ashes, Tris," I choke out as I cup her face softly, wiping her wet eyes with my thumb. "But it turns out you weren't dead. David shot you, but you held on. They told us you were gone, but they were keeping you under a powerful sedative and paralytic serum, like you were in Erudite. You've been held in a research facility for some kind of genetic testing for the last two years. We think they kept you under near-constant sedation and simulations." She nods again, no look of surprise on her gaunt face. She must have known, in some capacity, what was happening to her. "Tris, I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," The tears are wetting my face again. It's a foreign feeling. I've never felt so helpless, so un-dauntless, not since I was a small child. "I should have known, I should have come to get you. I didn't know, I'm so sorry."

Somehow, Tris lifts her rail thin arm from beneath the blankets and presses her palm to my cheek. Her raspy whisper is stronger this time as she looks into my eyes. "It's not your fault."

"You must have been so scared, in so much pain," I whisper back.

"I was always under a sim," she replies. "Some of them were terrifying. Many were like a normal day, over and over... to keep me from realizing, I think."

I want so badly to hold her. To kiss her mouth. I hesitate, though – what if after all she's been through, after two years of torture and captivity, she doesn't feel the same way? What if she's not ready, or wants to move on? I shudder at the thought. I would understand, I tell myself, but the tear in my heart bleeds again at the thought. For now I simply stoke her face, her hair, trying to let her know that she's safe, and that I'll take care of her.

"Now that you're awake, I should have Matthew come check up on you.".

"Matthew?" She looks puzzled. I keep forgetting how much she's missed.

"He moved into Chicago to work with the government after the Restructuring…" I can see the blank confusion on her face. I'm doing a bad job of this. "Tris, there aren't any factions anymore. There's a lot to tell you, but it can wait. For now, just rest." I can see a faint expression of pride and wonder on her face alongside the confusion, and I know she is glad the war she fought yielded something good. "Zeke, Matthew, Cara, and Christina are all here. I'm sure they'll all want to say hi."

"Caleb?" She whispers with both hope and trepidation. I shake my head. "Caleb has been… distant. He made it pretty clear he wasn't interested in speaking with us anymore. We're not sure if it's…" I clear my throat… "um, if it's safe to tell him you're alive."

A shadow crosses her face and I know she understands. He lied to her about his loyalties in the past. I stroke her hand reassuringly before going to fetch Matthew.

Sticking my head out of the bedroom door, I see him bent over a textbook at the kitchen table, while Cara and Christina play a word game in the living room. Zeke is sprawled on the couch watching TV.

"Matthew," I say. "Your patient is awake."

I see Christina's head snap up from the game. Zeke jolts up into a sitting position on the couch behind her. I give them all a smile as Matthew hurries in.

"Tris," He says, the relief evident in his voice. "I'm so glad to see you're awake. I just need to check you over to make sure you're doing all right. You've taken quite a physical toll." He's not a doctor, but he sounds like one - He would have been Erudite if he'd grown up here. He doesn't add that she almost died. I am glad for that.

Matthew sits beside her on the edge of the bed and checks her eyes, ears, throat, and blood pressure. I keep my eyes on her face. She doesn't watch Matthew – instead she locks eyes with me, and I feel warmth returning slowly to my core through her gaze. Matthew adds some more medication to her IV, then stands.

"You're doing remarkably well, Tris. Just keep resting – we'll make sure you're taken care of." As he turns, I see him eye me, and then the doorway, and I can tell he wants to discuss things further out of her earshot. I move to her side, running my hand over her hair.

"Do you want Christina and the others to come say hello?" I ask, not sure if she's up for it. She nods weakly, and I squeeze her hand before leaving the room behind Matthew. Christina is already bouncing at the door, Zeke and Cara close behind. I give them a nod and let them enter, shutting the door quietly behind them. I follow Matthew into the kitchen.

"How is she really?" I ask him in a low voice.

He nods. "She really is doing well, considering the state she was in when she arrived. She's still horribly weak, though. I don't think she's had solid food once since her imprisonment. There's evidence of a feeding tube, but I think most of her nutrition was through an IV, which is barely enough to sustain life over such a long period. Her muscles are so atrophied, I don't know if she'll ever regain 100% of her strength."

I'm not sure if I want to punch the wall behind me or crumble to my knees. Tris, always so vibrant and strong. Small but fierce. It pains me to think of her so diminished. Matthew continues. "Her heart is also a muscle, Four. It's very weak. We'll need to be very careful with her until she starts to regain some strength. She's not out of the woods yet. I've been administering a steroid to help her body gain some strength back - Just the fact that she's woken up is a huge step."

I nod, not knowing what else to say. Matthew claps me on the shoulder. "She's alive, Four. We got her back from the dead. Take comfort in that."

When I return to the bedroom, only Christina still remains. She holds Tris' hand, stroking it lightly. I join her on the other side, taking her other hand in my own. Christina looks to me. "I was thinking maybe I could help her into a hot bath." I looked at Tris' dull, flaky skin and lank hair still plastered to her face, and agree. I wish fervently I could be the one to take care of her that way, not wanting to relinquish her to the care of anyone else. But I'm still unsure how Tris feels, or if there will ever be the same relationship between us again. It would be wrong to push her.

"I'll leave you two some privacy," I say as I stand.

To my surprise, I see Tris give a weak shake of her head, her hand tightening around mine as I move to leave. Her mouth moves, and I hear her whisper my name.

"Tobias."

Christina pats her hand gently. "It's okay, Tris, he'll still be here when we get finished. Let's get you into a hot bath."

This time Tris opens her eyes, fixing them on me. "Tobias," she rasps again. "I want Tobias."

My crestfallen heart suddenly flutters with hope. At the very least, I'm still the person she trusts the most. Christina gives me a small smile and stands. "I'll go find her some fresh clothes." She slips out of the room quietly. I squeeze Tris' small hand, and think I catch a small smile at the corners of her mouth. Moving to the adjoining bathroom, I fill the tub with warm, steamy water. As the water level rises, I try to calm my suddenly racing nerves. I think of the fragile girl in the bed, so vulnerable. I don't want to frighten her, or break her, god forbid.

 _This is Tris_ , I remind myself. This is the strongest person I've ever known. I take a deep breath and shut off the faucet, turning back to the bedroom. Tris is waiting, her eyes meeting mine as soon as I come through the doorway. I see that Christina has already sent Matthew in to remove her IV drip - the port remains in her arm, taped over carefully. I kneel beside her for a minute, stroking the dark hollow beneath her eye with my fingertip. She gazes back at me, so vulnerable. Trusting me. I sigh, and stand to pull the covers back.

I am punched in the gut as I see her frail body again. As the cold air hits her skin, goosebumps rise all over her, and she shivers lightly. I gingerly place my arms under her bony shoulders and the crook of her knees, lifting her from the mattress and cradling her to my chest. She rests her head against my heart as I carry her into the bathroom – I don't know if she notices how fast it beats as I hold her, savoring the closeness. As I step into the bathroom, I flip the lid of the toilet down and set her gently on the seat, still supporting her back.

"Tris, are you okay with this?" I murmur again, wanting to be certain.

"I trust you," she says almost inaudibly as she looks me in the eye, then lowers her gaze. I know she has always been shy of her body, her abnegation roots showing through. I tell myself not to stare as I help her remove the undergarments, but quickly find there's no way this could carry even the slightest undertone of sexuality. I can only try not to cry with all the heartbreak I feel as I see her emaciated, tortured figure. She crosses her arms limply in an attempt at modesty, but leans into my chest as I pick her up, seeming content with my arms around her. I lower her slowly into the hot bath and feel her sigh with relief and pleasure. I am afraid she will topple over into the water, my hand steadying her back, but she leans forward to hug her knees and seems stable enough. I take the fluffy sponge and soak it generously before trailing it over her shoulders, letting the hot water flow in rivulets down over her spine, a rocky waterfall in its unnatural angularity. She sighs again, and I can almost smile at the sound.

As I warm her with the water, I can feel the tension coiled within her start to unravel. I wet my hands and cover them with soap, then touch my fingertips to her bare back, gauging her reaction. _Is this okay?_ Her eyelids flutter closed and I feel her relax further, so I continue. Massaging what's left of her tired muscles, I work the soap into a lather. I shudder to think how long it may have been since she's been given the simple pleasure of being clean.

I gently scrub the rest of her, hoping I don't cause her any pain. She seems relaxed, or maybe simply exhausted. I move to her lank and colorless hair, which has only grown to touch her shoulders over the course of over two years, trying not to think about the vicious malnourishment she'd been subjected to. I massage shampoo into the matted locks twice, then ease her back into the water to wash out the suds. Sunken in the tub, she looks so small. I keep one hand under her shoulders, afraid she will slip into the water and simply disappear. Her eyes flutter up to meet mine, and a tired smile graces her still-beautiful lips. I smile back at her tenderly, my heart suddenly floating ten feet above me, almost whole and healed in that instant. _Maybe there is hope,_ I think. _Maybe she can still love me._

Rinsed and clean, I lift Tris out of the bathtub. Her wet skin soaks my shirt. I move to sit her on the toilet seat again, but her voice surprises me. "I want to stand, Tobias."

"Are you sure? Just save your energy, Tris. Matthew says your heart is very weak." I eye her carefully.

"Yes. I _need_ to."

Of course she does – I suddenly see her again, _my_ Tris. So brave, so resilient. Always pushing to find her strength. I gently tip her down to stand on her own feet, keeping my arms safely locked around her. She rests her head on my chest, and I close my eyes as she wraps her arms around my waist. "You can't imagine how good this feels," she whispers. I can't respond, my words caught in my throat. I simply cradle the back of her head, her hair dripping into my shirt.

A shiver ripples through her then, and I break from my reverie to wrap a thick towel around her, keeping her tucked securely under my arm. I don't trust her legs to keep her from falling. I try and pat her hair dry with another towel as she warms up.

"I need to, uh… use the bathroom," Tris mutters. I am surprised at how much joy and pleasure the blush that tints her pale cheeks brings me. Abashed, she looks down. I am torn – do I leave her and give her some deserved privacy? I feel how heavily she leans on me as we stand. I'm terrified she might fall and hurt herself… suddenly there seem to be infinitely more sharp corners and hard surfaces in the bathroom than I remembered. _Tris would put me in a chokehold if she knew how weak she looks to me now,_ I think with sad irony. Although my better judgment tells me to stay, I help her to the toilet and step out of the bathroom. I don't latch it. She would also kill me if she knew I stood with my ear pressed to the wood of the door, ready to burst in if I heard anything amiss.

I hear the toilet flush, and move to open the door so I can help her back into the bedroom. To my shock, Tris already stands in the doorway, taking shaky steps with a determined face. I reach out to help her but she shoos my arm away. A few more steps into the bedroom, though, and she stumbles forward, legs giving way. Panicked, I lurch towards her, managing to grab her waist before her head hits the bed frame ahead of her. I tuck her into my side and support her last steps to the bed, wanting to scold her but knowing her determined spirit will have none of it. Sitting on the mattress, she looks exhausted but accomplished, and I let her enjoy it. I'll save the scolding for tomorrow - today I want her to remember that she's strong.

I help unravel her from the towel and dress her in the charcoal dauntless-style leggings and soft black cotton shirt Christina left folded on the bed, trying hard to ignore how they hang from her frame, far too loose. By the time I scoop her up and tuck her back under the covers, she is fighting hard to stay awake, her eyelids fluttering shut despite her obvious attempts to keep them open.

"It's ok," I murmur, tucking a strand of damp hair back from her forehead. I haven't even had a chance to brush it - she's too tired. "Rest. I'll still be right here when you wake up. We all will be." I can't help myself, and I lean in to tentatively brush the softest of kisses against her forehead just before she surrenders to sleep. I press my forehead to hers and, for the first time in two years, allow myself to embrace hope.


End file.
